Emerald Fog: the deleted scenes
by Annamia
Summary: We are now taking requests for the missing scenes from Emerald. Chapter one: the aftermath of the Quidditch cup.


_Author's note: This began as a belated Christmas present to _TutelaTwin_. She read Emerald Fog, decided that this scene was missing, and asked us to write it. So we did. We wrote the aftermath of the Quidditch Cup. And then we decided that there are probably many such scenes missing from our story, as there always are. So here's your chance: you may request any scene you like that takes place within the timeline of Emerald. That means, no asking what happens next. So sorry. We hope this will tide you over until we finish the sequel.  
Disclaimer: the characters belong to JK Rowling, the idea belongs to _TutelaTwin,_ we really don't own anything at all...  
Requested by: _TutelaTwin  
--_Tamara

* * *

_

Making up is quite fun

"What were you _thinking_?! You could have _died_!"

I sighed. In the three days since Slytherin had won the Quidditch cup, Harry hadn't stopped repeating those words. He was starting to sound like one of those muggle machines, the ones that seem to break so often. "I could not have died. I could have broken ever bone in my body, possibly, but I would not have died. I have faith that Madam Pomfrey would be quite capable of patching me up with only minimal effort and/or pain on my part."

This did not help.

"But I wouldn't have been able to visit you!"

I raised an eyebrow. "You aren't capable of sneaking into the infirmary? I must say, I'm shocked."

He glowered fiercely at me. "No I'm bloody well nt. Have _you_ ever tried sneaking into that place?"

"I can't say I've ever had the opportunity, no."

"Well, maybe you should. Madam Pomfrey catches _everything_. Hell, I don't' even think she _sleeps_!"

I grimaced. "But I did not break any bones, not was I required to spend any time in her domain, so you can, in fact, see me, and thus I do not see your problem."

He only stared at me. "You could have died," he stated again. "You risked your health and your life to win what is just a _game_. Can't you see how I might be upset by that?"

I regarded him fixedly. "Tell me, are you upset because of the nonexistent harm I _might_ have done myself, or because you lost?"

He glared at me, mouth agape. For a moment, he could not speak at all. Then, he spat," If you think I care more about a _game_ than about you, you need to think again. I, unlike _some_ people I might name, have my priorities in the right order." He glowered one last time, then turned and stomped out of the Room of Requirement, leaving me staring after him in confusion.

* * *

Pansy, when I came despondently into the common room, wasted no time in dragging out the entire story. I was half frightened of how she would react upon knowing that Harry and I were a couple, but I needn't have feared. Within two minutes, she had informed me that she'd known for ages, had looked at me pityingly, had reinforced the silencing charms of her study, and had told me that I was an idiot.

I blinked. "How am I being an idiot?" I demanded, focusing on the most immediate of my concerns. I would find out how Pansy had known later.

She shook her head. "How would you feel if your positions were reversed?"

I considered this, I really did, but eventually I could only shake my head. "I would be angry that he'd won."

She frowned. "Not that he'd risked his own safety to win?"

"Quidditch is risks," I snapped, wondering why no one else seemed able to grasp this concept.

She sighed, then tried another tactic. "Try to see it his way. He's spent the last six years saving people. And now he's failed. How do you think he must feel about that?"

I grimaced, not really wanting to think of what had happened last time he'd failed. I didn't know the whole story, of course, but I'd seen his face, and I knew how much it hurt him that he had not been able to save Sirius Black.

She nodded knowingly. "He loves you, idiot. He doesn't want to lose you."

"But he wouldn't have lost me!" I argued weakly.

"So?" she shot back. "He doesn't see it that way. All he sees is your risking your skin and his not being able to save you."

I growled, knowing I was losing this argument and not liking it. "Since when are you on his side, anyway?" I demanded.

"I'm not," she snapped.

"You sound like it."

"Well, I'm not. I'm not on his side, and I'm not on yours. I'm just telling you the facts and trying to knock some sense into your thick skull."

"Well, it's not working."

She shrugged. "Well, that's not my problem, now is it? Nor is it my problem if you insist on being an idiot."

I stood, scowling. She did not copy me, only undid the wards on her door. I stalked out. Had I been anywhere else, I would have slammed the door, but one just doesn't _do_ that in Slytherin…

* * *

Despite my outward scorn, Pansy's words ate at me. She was right, I knew that. I was being stubborn. I really should have apologized, should have sworn never to do anything similar again, should have done any number of things. But two things held me back: pride – I had, after all, made my stand, and I was not going to back down now – and the knowledge that he really was being irrational about this.

The next day, Harry avoided me so completely that I might as well not have existed. It hurt. It was like before… only worse. Before, I'd known his hate was genuine, and I had been resigned to it. Now, I feared his hate more than anything else I could name, and I could do nothing more than hope that it was anger, not hatred.

Two days later, I suddenly realized that this could not go on. I had to know. I had to know how he truly felt, had to know if he would ever forgive me.

I passed him a note in Transfiguration, trying not to be caught watching as he scanned it briefly. He caught my eye, nodded grimly, then looked away almost instantly. I but my lip and looked back down, knowing that I wouldn't be able to concentrate, and knowing that I had to try.

And I did try, I really did! I tried as hard as I possibly could to keep my eyes and my thoughts on my work, not on Harry. Pansy, who probably guessed what was going through my mind, kicked me on the one or two occasions that my eyes did manage to wander over towards where he was sitting, thus saving me from exposure. Without her intervention, I am sure I would have been discovered in an instant.

The period passed incredibly slowly. By the time the hour finally rang, I was certain that I had aged a year, and just as certain that the change had not been complimentary. I opted out of dinner, choosing to go directly to the Room of Requirement to wait. This proved to be a bad idea: I had nothing to do except think, and all I could think about were the many, many ways in which this could all go horribly wrong.

Finally, the door opened, and he stepped in. I did not dare look at him, certain that all my fears were about to come true. He paused just inside the door, awkward, clearly just as hesitant as I. I knew that one of us would have to take the initiative, and I knew that it should probably be me, and I knew that I would never be able to.

After several long, agonizingly slow minutes, he spoke. "Uh, you asked me to come here?"

I nodded, still unable to speak, yet knowing that this time, I really had to. "Yeah." God, I sounded like I expected him to hit me any second! I cleared my throat and tried again. "I did."

"So, uh, I'm here?"

"Why was that a question?"

He didn't answer, and I sighed. I couldn't put this off any longer. I knew that. "I wanted… we need to talk about the match."

He moved farther into the room and took a seat, looking as hesitant as me. He didn't say anything, and I grimaced.

"I'm sorry that I scared you." Better to apologize first. "But I'm going to take risks. It's part of who I am."

He scowled at me. "Do you have to take them right in front of me?" he snapped. "At least when I go off to do something stupid, I have the decency not to do it right in front of you!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Which is better, seeing exactly what happened, or not knowing and spending hours wondering?"

He opened his mouth to snap an answer, then sagged, closing it again. "I… I don't know," he murmured.

"Neither do I," I admitted. "But you have to accept that you can't shelter me from the world."

"I'm not trying to!" he insisted.

"Yes you are," I retorted. "You can't protect me from everything, Harry. I don't want you to protect me from everything. I can do it myself."

He hung his head. "People around me have a tendency to get hurt," he murmured dejectedly. "I couldn't bear it if you got hurt too."

"Even if I got hurt through my own stupidity?"

"Even then."

I sighed. "Then you're wasting your time."

"I know. I'm sorry."

I wanted to tell him that he ought to be, wanted to say that I hoped he got the message now, but I didn't. Instead, I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since before the match. He looked truly wretched, and I felt a stab of guilt: _I_ had brought him to this point. What kind of person _was_ I, to do something like this to the person I loved.

"It's not your fault," I found myself saying. "I suppose it wouldn't be fair of me to ask you to change, especially not right after saying that you shouldn't expect that from me."

He looked up, a faint glimmer of hope in his emerald eyes. "You really think so?"

I nodded. "I do." I shook my head ruefully. "Some hypocrite I am."

"No!" he said fiercely. "You're not!"

I realized that this was probably the wrong time to tease him. Instead, I hesitated, then walked over to where he was sitting. I did not kneel before him, but I did not loom over him, either. "Let's just accept that both of us are imperfect and work around that, okay?"

He looked up at me, doing his best to smile. "Works for me."

"Good." I hesitated, then bent down and kissed him. An apology kiss, the kind you always hear about in books. He clung to me, arms wrapped around my torso, pulling me down until I was practically sitting on him. I did not try to move away, despite the awkwardness of the position. I knew how much he needed this and, quite honestly, I needed it too.

Finally, he pulled away reluctantly. "Let's not fight anymore," he murmured. "It hurts too much."

I couldn't resist. "Oh, I don't know. The making up is quite fun, I think."

He glared at me. "Git."

"Of course."

He laughed and kissed me again. I relaxed into his embrace, blissfully happy, not thinking about what would happen tomorrow, or how I would get back at Pansy for those smug looks I just _knew_ she was going to be throwing at me, or anything but Harry and how happy I was with him. I could only hope that it lasted forever.


End file.
